


Nothing's Left Unturned

by ShowMeAHero



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brief Description of Fighting Off-Page, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Anxiety, Queerplatonic Relationships, those are for Jehan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Bahorel are both late to tonight's meeting, which really can only mean one thing, if you think about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing's Left Unturned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [felix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/felix/gifts), [Izzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzy/gifts).



> I had writer's block, so my friend Izzy said, "something with Jehan," and Felix said: “OH could you. hmm maybe write some cute jehan/grantaire qp-ish? that or….something with bahorel and grantaire?” Picture Miley Cyrus singing "The Best of Both Worlds". That was me in that moment. Also, for the most part, Felix's Les Mis art is how I see the Amis, and you can see his art blog [here](http://felixsketches.tumblr.com/).

Jehan fiddled with their cellphone, knowing the time would be 8:37 because they had _just looked_ and still, there were no messages, and the time had not had an opportunity to change in between their checking it. Jehan sighed and locked the screen again when they saw that there were no new messages. They jumped when someone slipped into the chair next to them.

“Hey,” Enjolras said softly. Jehan let the cellphone slip between their fingers distractedly. “You’re quiet tonight.”

“Grantaire’s not here yet,” Jehan pointed out, toying with their cellphone.

“Neither is Bahorel,” Combeferre added, leaning over the back of Enjolras’ chair, Courfeyrac hot on his heels. Courfeyrac spun one of the chairs at the table around and sat down. Jehan smiled at him.

“I’m sure they’re both fine,” Courfeyrac assured them. He drummed his hands on the table until Jehan passed him the salt and pepper shakers. “In any case, they’re both still be coming to the rally, and I’m sure you’ll see Grantaire tonight.”

“I’m not concerned about the rally,” Jehan murmured. They tugged at the end of their braid, worrying at the fishtail threads of it. “You just know how those two can get.”

Courfeyrac pat Jehan on the shoulder. Enjolras moved like he intended to touch them, then just smoothed his hair back out of his eyes. Courfeyrac grinned and kissed the top of Jehan’s head.

“Grantaire is fine, Bahorel is fine, and I wouldn’t worry about either of them,” Courfeyrac said firmly. He fiddled with the screw top of the pepper shaker. Combeferre took Jehan’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

“It’s going to be okay.” Combeferre looked into Jehan’s face until Jehan looked up and made eye contact. “It is. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jehan agreed, offering him a smile before returning their attention to their phone. They pressed the button at the bottom of the screen, and it lit up. There were no texts again, it was now 8:51, and Jehan rubbed at the bridge of their nose. The bell over the door of Café Musain rang, and Musichetta, behind the front counter, gasped audibly. Jehan dropped Combeferre’s hand and pushed their chair back with a screech to see better, and they shoved away from the table with an apology tossed over their shoulder when they caught sight of Grantaire and Bahorel coming in. The door shut behind them, the bell tinkling again. Enjolras stood, brow furrowed.

“Shit, what happened?” Jehan demanded as soon as they were close enough. They snatched up Grantaire’s hands and began to examine his busted knuckles. Grantaire grinned at them, and Bahorel clapped a hand down on his shoulder.

“What _happened_ , my beautiful Jehan, was that we ran into some _Backpfeifengesicht_ who was trying to attack someone in an alley outside the bar. He didn’t listen to reason, so we took it into our own hands,” Bahorel explained. Feuilly and Cosette came over, Feuilly ready with a cloth napkin full of tiny ice cubes to press to the cut over Bahorel’s persistently black eye.

“He only got in a couple of good ones, and it was two to one, so don’t worry about it,” Grantaire assured Jehan, who had switched to examining the split over Grantaire’s cheekbone. Jehan’s brow furrowed, their teeth worrying their bottom lip. Grantaire wrapped his hand around their wrist and smiled reassuringly at them. “Really. There’s been worse. You _know_ there’s been worse. I just need some ice and maybe a couple of butterfly bandages and I’ll be fine.”

Jehan tugged at Grantaire where he was gripping their wrist and led him back over to their table. Only Courfeyrac was left sitting at it, and he clapped Grantaire on the shoulder when he sat down. Jehan dug into their satchel hanging off the back of their chair.

“I heard Bahorel’s story. Good man, R,” Courfeyrac commented, and Grantaire grinned back.

“Thanks,” Grantaire replied. He jumped when Jehan dabbed at the cut on his cheek with rubbing alcohol on a little cotton ball. “ _Jesus_ , Jehan.”

“Sorry,” Jehan apologized genuinely. “I was worried, you know.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Grantaire said. Jehan smiled at him and nudged his shoulder.

“I’m proud of you,” Jehan told him conspiratorially. “I wish I had been there.”

“I know you would have kicked his ass, babe,” Grantaire assured them. Jehan dug a butterfly bandage out of their bag and pulled it over the cut with a grin. “Next time.”

“Next time,” Jehan snorted. “Of course, there’s going to be a next time.”

“Obviously.” Grantaire winced slightly when Jehan accidentally tugged too sharply at his skin. “You know me so well.”

“Obviously,” Jehan parroted. They picked up Grantaire’s hands and started cleaning his knuckles.

“So,” Grantaire said, his voice strained slightly, “tell me about the meeting tonight.”

“I know you don’t really care about the meeting,” Jehan commented. Grantaire shrugged.

“I’m going to be at the rally,” Grantaire reminded them. “I may as well know what I’m going to be doing.”

Jehan smiled at him and proceeded to not only tell him about the meeting, but also to make up random false facts about the meeting, waiting for Grantaire to call them out on one. The two of them left when Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras finally packed up and said goodbye, and they realized they had been there too long.

“Was what Bahorel was saying really true?” Jehan asked as they drove. Grantaire pulled at a thread at the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Yeah, but that was really only the gist of it,” Grantaire murmured. He fell silent for a bit. Jehan didn’t push. “You know, I don’t know sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Jehan answered. They put their hand over Grantaire’s without taking their eyes off the road. “I know. It’ll be alright. Don’t worry. Okay?”

“Okay.” Grantaire looked down at their hands and was quiet again. Jehan granted him the silence, rather appreciating it themselves after coming off of the horrible high of anxiety that the night had given them. Grantaire stroked at the back of Jehan’s hand, absently connecting constellations in the freckles there. When Jehan glanced over, Grantaire’s profile lit up in the headlights of a passing car. Eventually, Grantaire softly said, “I kind of know.”

Jehan turned their attention back to the road and smiled at the streetlights. “I know you do.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Also, Bahorel speaks German. Whatever. I'm working on my German, and I've been brought to understand that "der Backpfeifengesicht" means "a face that's begging to be slapped".
> 
> Title taken from "Flaws" by Bastille.
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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